


Sense Memory

by Kelly



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25270003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelly/pseuds/Kelly
Summary: Their wounds have always healed, so Joe doesn't know what to do when a gunshot to the head takes an irreplaceable part of Nicky.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 445
Kudos: 1794





	1. Chapter 1

Joe had seen brain matter more times than he cared to count, but there was a different quality to seeing it splattered across the concrete beneath Nicky’s head. Joe was not squeamish but watching the chunks of skull and fleshy brain bits spread in a growing pool of blood and cerebrospinal fluid made bile rise in his throat. He choked back the wave of nausea, touching Nicky’s cheek as those endless seconds passed. The blood soaked into the knees of Joe’s pants, the debris from the explosion crunching beneath him as he shuffled closer. Every time, he wondered if this was the last time. Joe and Nicky were born, or rather reborn, on the same battlefield. Destiny saw fit to intertwine them from the very beginning. In his darkest moments, Joe was haunted by the fear that they might not embrace a final death on the same battlefield, together, as one.

Nicky sucked in a ragged breath, and Joe nearly sobbed with the relief of it, exhaling the breath he had been holding in those agonizing moments. He touched Nicky’s cheek, then his shoulder, his hand wet with blood. Head injuries were always the worst, the amount of blood excessive.

Nicky blinked once, twice, as his head knit itself back together. His breathing was still ragged, his eyes dilated.

Joe touched the side of Nicky’s hair, wanting to reassure him. “Nicolo,” he breathed.

Nicky reached up, as if to touch Joe’s arm, then his hand went to the back of his neck instead. Joe was leaning down when Nicky’s grip changed, not even processing what was happening until Nicky rolled them, Joe’s back slamming into the concrete floor with the full force of his lover’s strength. It knocked the wind right out of him, the shock of it more than the pain of landing on his back momentarily stunning him. Nicky pinned him in a grappling technique that he had taught Joe some eight hundred years ago. They sparred often to keep their skills sharp, but even when they said they were going all out, there was an undercurrent of playfulness and love that pulled their punches just so. That was not the case now as all of Nicky’s weight pressed Joe into the floor, his knee an oppressive pressure on Joe’s sternum.

Joe knew how to break this hold—another lesson from Nicky—but he was frozen, unable to look away from Nicky’s eyes. There was an edge to them, but also something feral and fearful like a trapped animal. Joe parted his lips to speak, and one rib audibly cracked under the pressure of Nicky’s knee. Joe wheezed out a quiet groan.

“What did you do to me?” Nicky demanded in his native tongue, his words sharp. It was disconcerting to hear the old language here, now, when they were perhaps the only two people alive who spoke the dialect fluently. Joe was used to hearing it whispered in his ear as their bodies slid against each other between soft sheets. Hearing the language in that tone threw him right back to a millennia ago on the sunbaked earth outside the walls of Jerusalem. Nicky had done more than break his ribs, then.

Joe was stupefied, his eyes pulled away from Nicky’s piercing gaze to the blood and chunks of brain matting his hair, flecks of bone stuck between the tangles. “You were hurt,” he replied, in the same language, his voice rasping from the pressure on his chest or something else.

“You hurt me,” Nicky demanded, and it wasn’t a question, a fire in him that reminded Joe he was truly a terrifying adversary. Joe hadn’t felt the full force of Nicky’s rancor in many lifetimes, and it shook him right down to the core.

“I haven’t—I _wouldn’t_ ,” Joe gasped, trying to instill all his conviction and desperation into that word. Despite his instincts singing otherwise, he went limp, refusing to fight back.

Something flickered across Nicky’s gaze, and only through centuries of deciphering his most minute expressions could Joe identify the confusion and fear in his face. Then his gaze shuttered, his jaw set. An eternity passed wherein Joe knew Nicky was deciding whether to kill him. Joe would not begrudge him that, they had died at each other’s hands countless times, but he also physically ached with the loss of their connection.

Finally, Nicky released him. He moved back quickly, putting distance between their bodies. On his way back he swiped his handgun off the floor, his movements automatic as he checked the chamber and the clip, then snapped the gun back together and trained it on Joe from several feet away. His stance was guarded but natural with the gun, born from years of handling weapons. Joe’s rib knit itself back together, his back soaked through with Nicky’s blood and a gritty layer of dust from the explosion. His heart pounded as he slowly moved up onto his elbows, trying to project a nonthreatening posture.

“Nicolo,” he tried again, a note of pleading in his voice.

Something flickered across Nicky’s face, too complicated for Joe to adequately parse through before Andy, Booker, and Nile burst into the room.

Nicky pivoted automatically to face the new threat, his gun trained on Andy. Nile was in front of Andy in less than a second, all their stances changing. Booker and Nile both focused their guns on Nicky, and Andy changed her grip on a fine-bladed knife.

“What’s wrong?” Andy demanded, looking at Nicky but Joe knew the question was directed at him.

“Something happened,” Joe replied in English, his voice thick with a sudden wave of emotion he’d been trying to tamp down while addressing Nicky. “Maybe he’s not healing, he was shot in the head. I don’t think he remembers.” If Nicky was mortal, Joe didn’t know what he’d do.

Andy’s jaw ticked. With inhuman speed, she maneuvered past Nile and crossed the room to Nicky. She grabbed his gun hand and pushed it out just as he fired, the shot going wide. There were several shouts of alarm, perhaps from Nile, maybe from Joe or Booker. Andy swiped the blade across Nicky’s forearm. He punched with his free hand and she dodged easily, twisting his arm holding the gun until the weapon clattered to the floor and they grappled for a moment until she swung behind him, trapping him in a chokehold. She kicked out his knees and dragged him down to the ground in seconds.

Joe scrambled to his feet as they fought, wanting desperately to help but not even knowing what side he would intervene on.

“Did he heal?” she gritted out.

Joe could see the line of blood where she had cut Nicky’s arm, the skin perfectly unmarred, and he let out another breath he had been holding. He nodded.

She gave a curt nod, as if outmaneuvering a man twice her size left her completely unfazed. Nicky was a breathtaking fighter, but he was no match for Andy, even in her fragile state.

“Stop,” she said in Nicky’s native tongue, with such loudness and authority that Nicky suddenly stilled in her hold. He was still and tense as a board, but he wasn’t trying to break her hold. “I am your commanding officer.”

A beat passed, then another, Joe’s hands twitching with the need to _do something_. If Nicky didn’t stop, if someone had to kill him, it should be Joe. Joe could do it gently. He could get him out of the building and somewhere safe. He could protect him.

Luckily, he didn’t have to, the fight seeming to bleed out of Nicky as he went limp in surrender. “I apologize,” he said in English, and Joe and Booker shared a concerned look.

Andy’s hold around his neck didn’t loosen. “Do you speak English?”

Nicky just shrugged, as much as his shoulders could move with Andy restraining him from behind. The blood from his hair was smeared across her face.

She seemed to weigh her options for a moment, then released him, rolling away smoothly and back to her feet. Booker kicked the gun away from Nicky’s reach, his weapon still trained on him. Joe had his hands raised in the universal gesture for let’s all calm down. The guns pointed at Nicky were making Joe twitchy, even with recent proof his immortality was intact.

Nicky rubbed at his neck, smearing sticky blood, the visible bruising from Andy’s chokehold already fading. He climbed back to his feet unarmed. His posture appeared more relaxed, but it belied the threat assessment going on behind his eyes, scanning each member of the room before settling on Andy.

“Who am I?” he asked, seeming to trust her authority above the others. Joe’s heart ached.

“Your name is Nicolo di Genova. You are my soldier,” Andy replied.

His gaze shifted to Joe, lingering for a moment, reminding Joe once again of a caged animal. “And who is he?”

“He is yours,” Andy said without hesitation or embellishment.

“My what?”

“Simply yours.”

Something passed over Nicky’s brow, the confusion and fear still at the forefront, but intermingled with curiosity. For a second his gaze connected with Joe’s, but Nicky was the first to look away.

“We don’t have time right now to figure out what happened here or fill you in completely,” Andy continued, picking up an assault rifle. Nicky tensed slightly, but she simply removed the clip and tossed the gun aside, returning to Nile to hand her the ammunition. “Will you fight for me today?” She asked Nicky directly.

“Yes,” Nicky replied, seeming to surprise himself by the response. But it hardened his resolve, and he nodded. “Yes,” he repeated.

Andy nodded. Everyone was still tense, but Booker and Nile followed Andy’s lead and slowly lowered their weapons. Joe couldn’t look away from Nicky, his heart still pounding. He tried to compartmentalize, box his emotions up and set them aside for now. He couldn’t unpack what he was feeling without losing his focus on the job still ahead of them. Nicky’s safety had to come first. Nicky wasn’t safe as long as Merrick was still in the world.

“Joe, stay with Nicky,” Andy said, like there had been any question. It would take a permanent death to keep Joe away from Nicky, particularly now. “Go with Booker, and I’ll take Nile. Merrick is holed up in the penthouse. We’re going to do São Paulo, ’34.”

Joe’s gaze flickered to Booker, eyes narrowing minutely before he took that emotion and put it inside a different box inside his mind to unpack later. Nicky’s safety first, he reminded himself. “I’ll fill Nicky in,” Joe said with a slight nod. With quick efficiency, he scoured the corpses littering the room for useable weapons. When he found a loaded semiautomatic, he offered it to Nicky without a second thought, handle first. They both froze when they realized the position it put them in, the gun pointed at Joe within Nicky’s grasp. Uncertainty hummed electric between them. Then the butt of the gun slapped into Nicky’s hand like a surgeon receiving a scalpel. Nicky had always been a soldier, and soldiers fought wars. He was just conscripted into this one. Even if Joe was mortal, he would still trust Nicky with his life in that moment.

Once they were armed to the teeth they split up, Joe taking Nicky and Booker to the service stairwell. Joe couldn’t look at Nicky for more than a passing moment, or else the blood and the brains matted in his hair became too distracting and the emotions threatened to burst out of that box in Joe’s mind. Nicky’s face was schooled into a blank mask, but when Joe went to cover Nicky’s rear, Joe saw a flash of hesitation on his face. That hurt more than Joe expected, and he averted his gaze. Nicky usually went first, and Joe protected his back. Even when they were sleeping, Joe had his back. And that was definitely a rabbit hole of turmoil he couldn’t go down right now.

Joe parsed through his emotions, struggling to keep himself coolly detached and not let the raw ache overtake him. “Nicky, would you like to cover the rear?” he offered.

Booker glanced between the two of them but wisely did not say anything.

Nicky hesitated a moment, seeming to recognize there was something here he didn’t fully understand but nodded once. They restructured, Joe at the front, then Booker, then Nicky. They climbed the stairs silently to the roof, moving like the unit they had been for centuries. Anyone looking at them would have no idea that they were fractured by Booker’s betrayal and mourning Nicky’s lost memory.

On the roof, Joe secured his line to repel down the side of the building into the penthouse. Booker and Nicky stood on either side of him, some ten feet in either direction, their eyes scanning the entrances to the roof, the nearby buildings, and the air.

“Nicky, you’ll feed my line. I need twenty feet and enough give to crash through a plate-glass window.”

When a flicker of hesitation passed over on Nicky’s face, Booker spoke up, “I can feed the line.”

“Shut up,” Joe snapped at Booker. “Nicky controls my line.”

“You need to shoot the glass first to weaken it,” Nicky interrupted before Joe could continue. Joe’s heart fluttered in his chest, aching deeply like bones fusing back together after a messy break. Joe nodded, once. “Take this one.” Nicky handed him the semiautomatic he was carrying and took Joe’s handgun in return. Their fingers brushed across the barrel of the gun. “I’ll give you the rope you need.”

Joe wanted to say something but now was not the time. He swallowed the emotions back down, looping the rope around his wrist as securely as he could. “Once I’m inside, Andy and Nile will blow the front door. You’ll be the second wave.”

Nicky nodded. “Ready when you are.” He was, Joe reminded himself again, a soldier.

São Paulo ’34 went just as well in ’20. The spray of bullets weakened the glass as Joe swung down the exterior of the building, and he crashed right through the window and into the penthouse. Shards of glass rained down as the guards shouted in alarm, and Joe fired off a dozen rounds before his feet even hit the ground.

His eyes zeroed in on the head of security, Keane, his mind flashing to the moment Keane put a gun in Nicky’s mouth and pulled the trigger. There was no way to contain the flood of emotion that overtook him then, rage and grief warring in his soul. Had Joe and Nicky lost a thousand years of love because of this man? Rage reigned victorious. Everything narrowed and sharpened, the chaos quieting as Joe strode across the room and punched Keane squarely in the face. Then again, and again, pounding on him with all the anger, fear, and helplessness storming inside of him. So much for keeping his emotions locked up in boxes. He grabbed Keane by the front of his Kevlar vest, hands still stained with Nicky’s blood. “You shot Nicky,” he said through gritted teeth. “You shouldn’t have done that.” And then he flipped Keane forward in a move Nicky taught him, Keane’s neck snapping audibly when he hit the ground.

Joe looked up and saw Nicky there, a gun in either hand as he covered Joe throughout the fight. He was looking at Joe, and something passed over his eyes. Then he looked away again and dropped two guards with perfectly aimed shots. They cleared the floor without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come scream with me about The Old Guard on [tumblr](https://almostcanon.tumblr.com/). A huge thank you to my beta Sam for watching this movie on such short notice.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’ve had my brains blown out a thousand times, and I didn’t lose my fucking memory,” Joe whisper shouted, trying to keep Nicky from overhearing their argument. If an argument was one person yelling at a room of tired people.

The shower was faintly audible from the other room. They had all wordlessly agreed Nicky should have the bathroom first to wash the brains out of his hair. The fact that Joe was out here and not in there with him only added to his agitation. Like the need to breathe fresh air after a deep dive, he needed to run his fingers along Nicky’s scalp and feel the unmarred flesh for himself. He needed to touch him, kiss him, and know he was whole. Joe wanted to be the one to wash his hair with tenderness after every other touch today brought pain. He needed to know that Nicky was still alive and present. But he wasn’t really there with Joe, was he? Because he didn’t know who the fuck any of them were.

“We need to stay calm,” Andy said, her tone weary but not unsympathetic. She was sitting on the arm of the battered couch, Booker crouched in front of her redressing the bullet wound on her stomach. Andy rested her thumb and her pointer finger against her forehead with a sigh, her eyes closing momentarily. “We don’t know what happened, or even if it’s permanent.”

“You lose your immortality, and Nicky loses his memory?” Joe threw up his hands. “We’re broken, that’s what happened. It’s only a matter of time before we’re all rotting from the ravages of time. Everyone we love is going to die.”

“Maybe then you’ll know what the rest of us feel like,” Booker muttered, and immediately realized his mistake.

“ _You_ ,” Joe grabbed Booker by the back of his jacket, dragging him up and punching him right in the kidney. Booker let out a shout, twisting out of his jacket as he turned and landed a punch on Joe’s face. Blood burst from Joe’s nose, and they started to grapple with each other. “This is your fault, Booker,” Joe shouted.

Andy’s nostrils flared, standing up abruptly. “Both of you, stop it,” she said, her voice barely raised. Still, they both froze. “Joe, you’re out of control. You need to calm down.”

“Booker—” he started to object.

“I told you we were tabling that discussion,” she cut him off. “Booker will be punished; I have not forgotten what happened today. But this is not the time for that.”

Unspoken, everyone knew that without Nicky as a tempering force on Joe there would be no way to talk him down from extremes. Between Nile’s tentative suggestion about the value of a sincere apology and Joe ready to tie Booker to a rock and invite an eagle to eat his liver every day for eternity, they were at an impasse. Nothing good would come from negotiating Booker’s punishment that day.

Joe grudgingly released Booker’s jacket, and Booker adjusted it, looking away. Andy sat back down on the edge of the couch, and Booker finished taping off the fresh gauze. Tension roiled just beneath the surface of the room.

Nile observed all this from the doorway into the kitchen, either not knowing them well enough to intervene or not finding either side worthy of her support. “I think Nicky is going to be okay,” she tried to reassure Joe.

Joe laughed, a broken parody of the sound. “At least he’s not dead,” he said bitterly. Nicky’s death would destroy him. Still, it was a struggle to know that Nicky was only one room over, safe and alive. The loss of their shared history was not something he had ever contemplated, which was why he felt so unprepared to deal with the aftermath. To love a man so deeply who failed to recognize his face…no one should suffer that fate.

They all looked up when the bathroom door opened, and Nicky emerged in fresh clothes. His hair was damp and clean, sticking up at odd angles that Joe always found heart wrenchingly endearing. He was wearing Joe’s shirt, but Nicky wouldn’t have known what was his out of their pile of clothing. He looked so incredibly normal, and that was worse somehow. If there was no wound to point to, no gaping hole in his flesh, then what was Joe supposed to do to fix this?

Nicky’s gaze scanned the occupants of the room, and when his eyes passed over Joe, he did a doubletake. He furrowed his brow, a familiar expression of concern. “Are you okay?” Joe’s heart stuttered in his chest, for a moment hopefulness seizing him. Had he remembered? Joe didn’t know what the expression was on his face, but it seemed to make Nicky uncomfortable, because he glanced away. “You have,” Nicky gestured to his own face, “Blood.”

“What?” Joe said, confused. He reached up to touch under his nose. The blow from Booker already healed, but the blood was still wet on his skin. “Oh.” His heart sunk.

“I’ll use the bathroom next,” Booker broke the beat of silence and beelined for the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Joe walked into the kitchen, numbly stopping in front of the sink. He turned on the water, leaning over the basin as he cupped his hand beneath the stream. He used the water to wash the blood off his face, rubbing some water on the back of his neck. His muscles didn’t get sore, but some aches weren’t physical. He turned off the tap and breathed deeply, still bent over the sink as the water droplets dripped down his nose.

“I think that we should find some time to talk.” Nicky’s voice, low so as to only be heard by Joe, sent a shiver down his spine. Joe hadn’t realized Nicky followed him into the kitchen.

Joe glanced sidelong at him, taking in the sight of him leaning his hip against the counter a few feet away. Joe accepted the dish towel Nicky offered him, using it to dry his face and neck. He pressed the towel against his eyes, drawing in a breath before dropping the cloth. He straightened, turning away from the sink and toward Nicky.

“Yes, that’s a good idea.”

“I can see that you’re in pain,” Nicky said tentatively, avoiding Joe’s gaze. “I’m sorry that I’m the cause of it.”

“You’re not,” Joe said, with such fierceness that Nicky’s gaze snapped back to him, surprised. “You didn’t cause this,” Joe said, quieter this time, but with no less conviction. “Nicky, I—” Joe reached forward without thinking, meaning to touch Nicky’s hand or arm, but Nicky shied back. Joe aborted the movement, closing his hand around a mug on the counter between them instead. He pretended like he’d meant to pick it up all along, turning back to the sink to fill it with water. His heart pounded in his chest. “You don’t have to apologize for anything,” he continued, voice low. He set the mug on the counter. “Drink that, it’s been a long day.”

Concern furrowed Nicky’s brow, but he grasped the proffered mug and took a long drink of water. When he set it down, he pushed it an inch closer to Joe. “Your day was just as long. You drink, too.”

Joe picked up the mug, pausing for a beat before he placed his lips where Nicky had on the ceramic and took a deep drink of water. It was silent for a moment when he set the mug back down, neither man looking at the other. Nile and Andy were talking in low tones in the next room, but Joe couldn’t make out their conversation.

It was Nicky who broke the silence. “Our relationship was physical?” he guessed.

A laugh bubbled up unbidden, the absurdity of this all making Joe’s head spin. He shook his head to clear it, trying desperately not to dwell on the past tense of that question, which threatened to drag his heart down to the ocean floor like an anchor. “It was always physical,” he replied. It took effort to bite back the declaration that threatened to follow that. This was Nicky, but it was not _his_ Nicky. Not yet. And Joe would not get bemused affection in response to a romantic soliloquy. He couldn’t scare Nicky away when things were so fragile between them.

Nicky watched him, careful contemplation on his face. He was still weary, but at least he was here. “So, we can’t be killed,” Nicky continued, a conversational redirect that Joe let him take. Joe nodded. “But Andy—she’s injured?”

“We are immortal, but Andy’s just…went away,” Joe said in a low voice. That was another thing to grieve that he hadn’t allowed himself to process.

Nicky nodded. Joe expected him to question her leadership given her state, but he didn’t. Joe loved him even more. “We have more to talk about,” Nicky said finally. “But we’re all tired and we should feed them.”

“No lifechanging decisions on an empty stomach,” Joe said without thinking.

“What?” Nicky glanced at him from where he was looking through the cupboards to inventory their food supply in the safehouse.

Joe shifted, pushing off the counter to busy himself opening the refrigerator. Predictably, it was almost entirely empty except for expired condiments. “That’s just something you say. No big decisions on an empty stomach.”

The corner of Nicky’s lips twitched up. “Good advice.” He pulled down a bag of pasta, checking the date on the side. “Do you want to help me make dinner?”

“Yes,” Joe breathed, unable to keep the emphatic note from his voice.

Nicky smiled softly and handed him the pasta. “See what you can make of that while I work on the sauce.”

They orbited around each other in the kitchen, and in their silence, Joe almost fooled himself into thinking nothing had changed. But then he turned, and where he would normally place a hand on the small of Nicky’s back, the touches casual but intimate, he caught himself. Those moments sent him crashing back to earth, trying desperately to regain rhythm and focus on putting together an edible meal. He didn’t know how Nicky couldn’t feel it, the yearning need to touch.

With no fresh food to speak of, Nicky and Joe made do with the nonperishables. It was not spaghetti that Nicky was proud of, but everyone seemed grateful for it as they ate around the table. Having Nicky out among them calmed Joe down somewhat, and although the group was subdued, at least they were together.

Joe finally had his turn in the bathroom, getting out of his bloodstained clothes. He never got attached to clothing, seeing as it frequently found itself full of bullet holes. There was no hot water left for the shower, but he had centuries without the luxury of running water to curb his disappointment. He did a perfunctory job washing, not enjoying getting clean like he normally would. There was no relief and normalcy on the other side of it. Although he was tired, he took the time to trim his beard and apply beard oil. His curls were another matter, not having the patience to style them. He would just wear a hat tomorrow.

When Joe left the bathroom, clean and dressed in fresh clothes, his gaze landed on Nicky and Nile sitting on the couch. They were talking amicably, a comfortableness to their conversation that was not weighed down by expectation and history. They had barely known each other before, so there was no loss between them. Joe felt jealousy rise unbidden inside him and struggled to push it back down. He ached to sit beside Nicky and just talk to him without this chasm of lost love between them.

Nile caught sight of Joe and smiled. “I was just telling Nicky about Copley’s research on you all. Maybe looking at that would help him remember some things.”

“We need to pay Copley a visit anyway,” Andy added from her place across the room, inserting herself into the conversation. “We can go tomorrow.”

“I’d like that,” Nicky nodded. He thanked Nile and stood, the team starting the slow process of winding down for bed. He crossed the room to Joe, stopping in front of him. Joe’s skin hummed with the need to touch, and he pressed his nails into his palms to keep his hands down. “I was thinking,” Nicky said, his voice low so as to give them the illusion of privacy. “You should take the bed.”

Joe sucked in a breath, taken off guard. He hadn’t thought this far ahead, but of course Nicky wouldn’t sleep with him. Nicky didn’t know him. And with the addition of Nile, there were not enough beds for them to each have their own. Joe opened his mouth to suggest throwing out Booker, but a glance down the hallway revealed Booker sitting on his mattress with his laptop. Joe exhaled. He had fight left in him, but not for Nicky. “No, I want you to have the bed.”

“Joe, please,” Nicky said quietly.

Joe’s heart pounded at those words, his name on Nicky’s lips, having to look away. It was too familiar. He felt like he was looking at one of those changing pictures where you just blur your eyes a little and it turns into something else. It was almost his Nicky. He spoke abruptly, “I’m sleeping on the couch. Don’t fight me on this, Nicky.”

Nicky studied him for a moment, then sighed. “Okay. But we switch off.”

The thought that this would go on for enough nights to establish a rotation was almost enough to push Joe over the edge. “Fine,” he agreed through his teeth, having no intention of doing so.

Normally Nicky wouldn’t have let him get away with that, but Nicky didn’t know he was full of shit. Or maybe Nicky just wasn’t at a place where he could comfortably call Joe out on it. Joe didn’t know which one was worse.

Which was how Joe ended up on his back on the couch, the fan overhead spinning in lazy circles, the house dark and quiet as night fully settled over them. The safehouse wasn’t as big as some, just one living and dining area and a single bedroom where their mattresses lived. The bedroom wasn’t so far away that Joe couldn’t hear the quiet sounds of sleeping bodies. When he closed his eyes, he could pick out Nicky’s breathing even from the other room. Andy and Booker’s sleeping sounds were also familiar, and Nile’s was easy to parse out by process of elimination. If he really focused, he could tune in his breath to Nicky’s. He knew all the sounds he made when he was sleeping. When Nicky got into a deep, restful sleep, he snored softly on every exhale. It was one of Joe’s favorite sounds, the rhythm of it. It only happened when Nicky felt completely safe. When Joe was pressed up against Nicky’s back, he could feel the vibration of it in Nicky’s chest through his hands.

He couldn’t hear Nicky snoring now. There was some relief in that, even if it was a selfish relief. If Nicky could sleep soundly and comfortably away from Joe…well, he didn’t want to think about it too much.

He knew that Nicky was asleep, but fitfully. He could hear him turn on the thin mattress, a restlessness that Joe ached to sooth. He knew how to touch him—a hand on his stomach, on his back, a nose behind ear, a tighter grip to ground him—and Nicky would be calm again. Joe felt helpless all the way in the living room, his body humming with the need to go to him.

He didn’t know how long he listened to him, his body so finely tuned to Nicky that all the other noises seemed to fade away. Joe never had a good sense of time, anyway. He had lived in seconds that stretched for days and decades that passed in a blink. That night was no different, existing in a limbo where time wasn’t real. Maybe that was why he reacted so quickly when he heard Nicky’s breath change, a sharp inhale that disrupted the sleeping rhythm. It wasn’t anything so dramatic as a shout, but Joe was sitting up immediately, knowing Nicky had woken up with a start. Joe threw aside the blanket tangled around his legs, standing before he could really think it through. His feet took him to the doorway to the bedroom, and Nicky must have heard him approach because he sat up in bed. Joe could just barely make out his expression in the dark, and he gestured for Joe to stay silent. Everyone else in the room was still sleeping, undisturbed by the minute differences in Nicky’s breathing patterns.

Nicky got out of bed, rubbing the back of his neck as he silently padded across the room to Joe. Wordlessly, they moved to the kitchen. Nicky exhaled a slow breath when they got there.

“Did I wake you up?” Nicky whispered.

“No,” Joe replied truthfully, his voice just as quiet. He hadn’t been asleep. “Do you want some tea?”

“Is there anything stronger?”

Joe opened the cabinet, finding a half empty bottle of bourbon that he knew Nicky liked. He took down two glasses and poured them each a double.

Nicky took his silently, taking a long drink. He looked tired around the edges of his eyes, and Joe was overcome once again with the desire to touch him. Joe gripped his glass tighter and took a drink himself.

“I had a dream about you,” Nicky whispered, unprompted.

“Oh?” Joe replied, trying to keep his tone casually neutral and not belie the surge of hopefulness he felt. “What was it about?”

Something flickered across Nicky’s face, and Joe thought it was frustration, but he was harder to read in the dark. “It was stupid.”

“It wasn’t if it woke you up.”

Nicky took another drink, carefully swirling the remaining liquid in his glass as he looked down at it. “I dreamed you were on the couch, but you weren’t sleeping.”

Joe just stared at him.

“I told you, it was stupid.”

It took him a moment to process that. “You dreamed of me out here? Tonight?”

Now Nicky looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry if it’s strange.”

“No, we—all of us have dreams about each other.”

“Oh,” Nicky sounded almost relieved at that.

Joe hesitated before continuing, “But usually the dreams are only when we’re apart. They stop when the group is back together. Because…well, we’re meant to find each other.”

“But I did find you,” Nicky said, puzzled. “You’re here.”

Joe didn’t know what to say to that, so he just looked away, finishing his bourbon in one gulp. “You should try to get some more sleep. You might not remember it, but the last few days have been difficult, and you need rest.”

“So do you,” Nicky said quietly.

“I’ll try.”

They were silent for a moment, something unspoken humming in the air between them. Nicky was the one to break it, tossing back the rest of his drink before turning back to the cabinet to put away the bottle of bourbon. “Goodnight, Joe.” He seemed like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t, turning away.

“Goodnight, Nicky,” Joe replied, his voice thick. He waited until Nicky left the kitchen before getting the bottle back down, pouring himself another drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch me screaming into the void on [tumblr](https://almostcanon.tumblr.com/). So happy I could fill the fandom need for that multi-chapter angst that hurts so good. All your lovely comments give me life.


	3. Chapter 3

Joe was up before the rest of the house. Starting his day early was better than the slow torture of listening to Nicky unable to sleep in the next room and not being able to do anything about it. It was still dark outside at the time Joe put on his shoes and donned a baseball cap. Although he didn’t sleep the night before, he knew he could go a few more days until it became an actual problem. He left as quietly as he could, returning just around dawn with a drink caddy and a bag. By that time, everyone had roused and was moving around the house.

Nicky’s gaze snapped to the door when Joe entered, the crease of tension between his brows easing somewhat. Nicky’s eyes looked as tired as Joe felt, but he seemed relieved to see him. He was sitting at the kitchen table with Andy, but they paused whatever they had been talking about when Joe arrived.

“I brought breakfast,” Joe said, holding up the bag to illustrate. He set it down on the table between Andy and Nicky, Nile and Booker drawn by the smell of fresh pastries and coffee. Joe picked up the first coffee cup, checking the side. “Boss, double espresso,” he handed it to Andy.

“Mm,” was her only response, cradling the hot cup between her hands as she took a drink.

Joe picked up the next one. “Nicky, flat white,” he set it down in front of him.

“Is there sugar?” Nicky asked, pulling the drink closer.

“Already fixed it for you. But, uh, there’s more in the caddy if it’s not right.”

Nicky’s cheeks flushed faintly, and he gave Joe a small smile. “Thank you.” He took a sip and leaned back, seeming satisfied. Some more of the tension in his brow eased.

Joe couldn’t help but be pleased with himself at the small success. He knew he was staring too long, but it was so good to see Nicky content. While it wasn’t the effortless happiness Joe loved to see on him, given the circumstances it might be the most he could hope for. He would do anything to keep Nicky, if not happy, at least content.

Booker quietly cleared his throat.

“Booker,” Joe announced loudly, picking up a cup with a flourish as he bared his teeth. “Special for you, I asked if they had any drain water they could run through some old grounds.” He handed him the drink.

Booker didn’t even seem phased, producing a flask from his jacket and unscrewing it, taking the top off the coffee to pour some liquid in. “Thanks,” he said gruffly.

“Nile, I didn’t know your drink, so we have,” he pointed, “Regular coffee and a latte. I’ll drink the one you don’t want.”

“Coffee for me, I’m lactose intolerant.” She picked up the cup with a grateful smile.

Nicky frowned. “No dairy at all?” Joe knew the mental rolodex of recipes he was cycling through and discarding. Unless he forgot his recipes? Joe was seized for a moment with the thought that he didn’t know the bounds of Nicky’s memory loss, or what else might be affected.

“You might not be lactose intolerant now,” Andy commented, sorting through the pastries and selecting the one she wanted. “We don’t get sick, so it stands to reason that dairy won’t bother you anymore.”

“Huh,” Nile said, taking a sip of coffee. “I could do without milk or cheese, but I do love a good ice cream.”

“But maybe you just haven’t had the right kind of cheese,” Nicky interjected, with more enthusiasm than was strictly warranted. But Joe also knew of Nicky’s cheesemonger phase in the 1750s, so this wasn’t really a surprise. Although Nicky presumably would not recall his time spent selling cheese in Spain, it seemed a love of dairy survived amnesia.

Joe couldn’t help but smile, hoping he didn’t look as smitten as he felt. He took a sip of his latte.

At all the cheese talk, Nile made a face. “I guess that could be true.”

“We could get you a platter to sample,” Nicky said. “Only if you want, of course. But I promise they’ll be better than any of the cheeses you’ve tried.”

Nicky was hard to say no to, Joe had firsthand experience with this. So he was not surprised when Nile finally smiled and agreed. Nicky looked so pleased that Joe mentally revised his goal from content to happy. Maybe he could still find ways to make Nicky happy, even if this was the new normal.

“We’ll get some today,” Nicky continued. “We need to go grocery shopping anyway.”

“We’re seeing Copley this afternoon,” Andy reminded him.

“There’s no food in this house,” Nicky lamented. “Just a quick shopping trip, then we make lunch, then Copley.”

Andy and Joe shared a look. Out of all of them, Nicky was the one who always remembered they were human. He usually took it upon himself to remind the rest of them, and in the process took care of them. It was exactly how Joe would expect Nicky to prioritize their needs, which was reassuring. Although Joe would personally prefer if Nicky would prioritize Copley, seeing as that might help him regain his memories, this was such a familiar refrain that it was comforting.

“Joe, would you like to go shopping with me?” Nicky asked. Joe could tell it was meant to be a casual invitation, but Nicky had his gaze downcast and he was gripping his coffee cup with both hands. He was nervous.

“Of course,” he replied immediately. “We’ll go after breakfast.”

The smile Nicky gave him reassured Joe that his nervousness was perhaps only that Joe would refuse. Joe would have to find a way to tell Nicky that he would never refuse him anything.

Grocery shopping was less exciting in the twenty-first century, but ultimately much more convenient. Joe was excellent at bartering, but today there were only certain corners of the world where his skills were truly appreciated. Now, shopping for necessities in a big city was dull and standardized. Or it would have been, if Joe had less interesting company.

Nicky loved shopping. He had very expensive taste—which was a nice way of saying he was a bit of a snob when it came to food. Centuries ago, Joe had been much more utilitarian, but after so long living to Nicky’s standards it was hard to go back. That was why Joe took him to a smaller market, something local where the produce might be fresher. There was also a better chance there might be a passable cheese counter, but Joe didn’t have his hopes up. Likely they would have to find a specialty shop.

Joe pushed the cart while Nicky went back and forth, picking up items and depositing them in the cart, then disappearing again to return with something else. The cart was filled with lush greens, bright reds, yellows, and oranges as Nicky skillfully picked the best fruits and vegetables.

“I don’t think we can eat all this before it goes bad,” Joe mused, which earned him a look from Nicky.

“Then you’re not eating enough,” he replied, going to the butcher counter next. He talked enthusiastically with the woman about the different cuts of lamb and the marbled steak behind the glass. While they waited for the butcher to wrap the meat he selected, Nicky glanced sidelong at Joe. He seemed to debate internally for a moment, and Joe waited patiently until Nicky asked in a forced conversational tone, “Do you eat pork?”

Joe’s heart ached a little, and he looked down at the basket of food. These were things he took for granted, that Nicky wouldn’t have any way of knowing unless he relearned them or remembered. “No.”

Nicky nodded. “I know plenty of halal recipes.” He paused for a moment while they waited for their meat, mindlessly playing with a button on his shirt. Joe knew the fiddling was due to anxiety, and he fought the urge to smooth his fingers over Nicky’s and reassure him that it was alright. Nicky asked his next question after a beat, “What’s your favorite dish?”

“I like mansaf. You also make a delicious lasagna.”

Nicky smiled. “I can make mansaf.” He asked the butcher to add the bone-in lamb shoulder to their order, and after she packaged it, he accepted it with a thank you. He placed the meat in the frankly very full cart. “Let’s get yogurt, then.”

They went to the dairy section, Nicky debating over the yogurts and getting regular as well as a dairy-free option for the mansaf sauce in case Nile was still lactose intolerant. Next, he looked critically at the cheeses. Nicky saw something he liked on the shelf on the other side of Joe, and seemingly without thinking reached in front of him. His shoulder brushed against the front of Joe’s chest, the touch startling him. But that wasn’t what sent a bolt of electricity right through his core. No, Nicky was wearing his deodorant.

Joe and Nicky had been having sex for about nine hundred years. Although the novelty had worn off, they never got tired of it, and Joe expected he never would. But they had developed ways to tell the other they were interested without using so many words. Usually, their coded messages were accompanied by a flirty smile and the expectation that later, they would find a moment together. One of Nicky’s favorite ways to let Joe know he wanted sex was to wear Joe’s deodorant or, on rare occasions, his cologne. Like Pavlov’s dog, smelling himself on Nicky was ringing Joe’s bell. Not in a “rip your clothes off” way, but it always gave him a rush of possessive desire. The anticipation made it so much sweeter when they were finally back in bed together, and Joe could properly make Nicky smell like him.

Without even thinking about it, he had leaned in slightly to inhale Nicky's scent. They both tensed at the same time when they realized the position they were in, closer than they had been since Nicky pinned Joe after the accident. Nicky’s hand closed around the package he’d been reaching for, and he took a quick step back from Joe, clutching it to his chest.

“Sorry, was that—” he started to say.

“It’s fine,” Joe interrupted him, averting his gaze, gripping the handle of the cart a little tighter. Of course, Nicky didn’t consciously decide to wear Joe’s deodorant, let alone comprehend some ulterior motive behind it. He probably didn’t even know which toiletry bag was his.

Nicky hesitated, then seemed to steel himself. “No. Joe, I need you to talk to me or else…or else this is going to keep being difficult. I don’t want to keep feeling like I’m doing something wrong.”

“I love you,” Joe blurted out, and it was a mystery how he’d gone this long without saying it. Right there in the dairy section of the grocery store, he turned toward Nicky and drew in a deep breath. Maybe it wasn’t what he meant to say, but it was what he needed to say in that moment. He continued, his voice thick with emotion, “You’re my entire world. You’re the air I breathe and the water I drink. I can’t live without you, Nicky. You’re everything to me and more.”

Where Joe expected Nicky to look confused or disgusted, instead he only looked sad. He shocked Joe by taking a step closer to him, setting the package in their grocery cart before he rested one hand on Joe’s forearm. “I know,” he said softly, looking down. “I feel it every time you look at me. It’s like looking into the sun—it’s so bright I have to look away.”

Joe, the poet he was, seized on the metaphor. “But the sun warms you, it gives you life.” He turned his hand and grasped Nicky’s forearm so they were connected, clasped like brothers in arms. Or lovers. “The sun is eternal,” he whispered.

Nicky’s gaze flickered back to him, and Joe was shocked to see tears at the corners of his eyes. “That’s why I feel so guilty.” Joe’s heart skipped in his chest, his grip on Nicky’s arm tightening minutely. Nicky must have seen the turmoil that threatened to seize Joe, because he shook his head, lifting his free hand to touch Joe’s cheek. “No, Joe. I feel guilty because I want to be that for you, too.”

“You are that,” Joe whispered.

“Not like this,” Nicky murmured, looking away, self-conscious. “I need to remember. There’s just…there’s so much here that I don’t understand and it makes me feel so…” he made a sound of frustration, “Just so lost.”

Joe couldn’t stop himself, wrapping his arms around Nicky to pull him in for a firm hug. His hand moved up to cradle the back of his head, relieved when Nicky slowly relaxed into the embrace, some of the tension wound tight in his body easing. Eventually, Nicky sagged against him, his forehead moving to rest against Joe’s neck, his arms wrapping around his waist. Joe felt him exhale, his breath warm and familiar against Joe’s collarbone. Joe’s eyes closed, savoring this, his thumb and pointer finger rubbing gentle circles into the base of Nicky’s skull, deep in his thick hair. That was the spot where he was shot. It was unblemished, just like Joe knew it would be.

“I can help,” Joe whispered. “I can tell you anything you want to know. Even if it takes another thousand years, I’ll tell you everything.”

“I can’t put that all on you,” he whispered. “You had a partner, and now I’m just…a husk.”

“You aren’t,” Joe replied fiercely. No one talked bad about Nicky and got away with it—including Nicky. He held him a little tighter, cradling the back of Nicky’s head to keep him close. “You’re still you. Your memories aren’t what made you into the person you are. I cherish all the time we’ve spent together, but that isn’t what makes me love you.” He swallowed. “I could start over and do it all again.”

Nicky pulled back slightly to look into his face, his arms still loose around Joe’s waist. His eyes were wet, his brow furrowed with exhaustion and stress. Joe desperately wanted to take that burden and carry it for him. “Are you sure?” Nicky frowned.

Joe’s hand moved to cup Nicky’s cheek, smoothing out the stress lines around his mouth with his thumb. “I couldn’t be more sure of you.”

Nicky smiled faintly, the expression tinged with sadness. “I wish I was that sure about everything. It just feels very new.”

“It’s a lot to take in,” Joe said with a small nod. He thought Nicky was taking this better than any of the others would, if they were in his situation. “I want you to be comfortable. I want whatever we do to be because you want it, not because you…you feel obligated.”

This time, Nicky’s smile was softer, more genuine. “It won’t be. Just, can you do one thing for me?”

“Anything,” he replied instantly.

“Please don’t take it personally if I get…in my head about this. If I need to put it on pause.”

Joe ached at the thought, but he knew this was so much more than he could have hoped for in this situation. The loss of casual intimacy borne of years together still hurt, but he could earn it back. There was hope in the way Nicky was looking at him. “Of course.”

Nicky smiled, and stepped back from him. With some reluctance, Joe let him go, already keenly missing the touch. “Well,” Nicky wiped below his eyes. “We should finish shopping; I don’t want us to be late for Copley and I still have to cook lunch. Also, we have to find a better cheese shop.”

Joe smiled faintly, admiring Nicky. He wished touching him had soothed the need inside him, but it only made him want to touch him more. He had to remind himself that Nicky needed his patience. Joe could wait. They certainly had the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://almostcanon.tumblr.com/). Did you guys expect such riveting plot points as "team breakfast" and "grocery shopping"? I love this budding fandom so much, and I am so grateful to be part of it. Thank you for your lovely comments!


	4. Chapter 4

Copley’s research was extensive, but Joe wasn’t even paying attention to it. No, he was watching Nicky’s face. He tried not to crowd him, standing several feet back as Nicky surveyed the second bulletin board. Joe had his fist in front of his mouth, his elbow in his other hand. He tried not to let the multitude of emotions he was feeling show on his face.

Truthfully, Joe couldn’t look at the research. It was a testament to his centuries with Nicky, their joint love letter to the world sprawled out across the walls like a tapestry. They had dedicated their lives to each other, but also to doing good where they could. Nicky and Joe always decided what to fight for together, a united front that pulled a lot of weight when the team was just the four of them. But Nicky was the heart. How many times had Joe shied away from a job because it was too risky, too high profile? And Nicky would lay a hand on his arm and look into his eyes with the softest gaze and say, “If not for this, then for what, my love?” Although he didn’t explicitly say it, Nicky thought their immortality had a higher purpose. Nicky never turned his back on people who needed him. And Joe never turned his back on Nicky, which meant they always fought together. Always.

Joe studied Nicky’s expression, observing the crease between his brows and the tense line of his lips. It hurt to see him look that way after seeing him close to happiness that morning. Nicky’s eyes would scan over the board, searching, then settle for a moment. Sometimes Joe would glance at the board to see what had caught his attention, but he wouldn’t speak unless Nicky asked him.

“We went all over, didn’t we?” Nicky finally said, touching the corner of a record from the Crimean War. The document described the Battle of Inkerman, where they fought for the French. It was an ugly, bloody battle. Joe vividly recalled a sea of fog clinging to the corpses of some 15,000 men sprawling for kilometers across the Crimean countryside. The ground was slick with the gore, suctioning their boots to the ground like mud. The stench alone was almost unbearable. A British soldier had cried out to him as they were hiking out; he had lost both his legs. He begged Joe to kill him. Joe had done it. With some bitterness, Joe was glad Nicky did not remember that battle, too. They never went back to Crimea.

“We went where we were needed. Where we thought we could do good,” Joe said eventually.

Joe knew everyone was eavesdropping, even if they were pretending not to. Nile was in front of the board on the wall perpendicular to Nicky, and Andy and Copley were speaking in low tones across the room. Booker hadn’t joined them for this trip.

Nicky looked at him then, a sad tilt to his lips. “Did we? Do good?”

Joe impulsively took a step closer to him, pushing his hands into his pockets to dampen the urge to touch him. “On the whole, yes. I think this place is proof of that.” Joe would have had a crisis like Andy’s centuries ago if he didn’t have Nicky to constantly remind him what they fought for. _The worst thing we can do is nothing_ , Nicky always said. Even when they got it wrong, and the scales tipped in the wrong direction, it just meant they had to work harder to tip them back. Nicky was never discouraged. Joe loved that about him.

Nicky nodded thoughtfully, looking back at the board again.

Joe hated the expression on Nicky’s face. There was sadness in his eyes, but also frustration. Joe didn’t have to ask; he knew Nicky didn’t remember anything here, and it was clear that made Nicky upset. Their primary hope to get him his memories back seemed like a dead end. Joe wished they hadn’t even come here.

Nicky suddenly placed his finger on a picture, the two of them when they fought in the Pacific Ocean theater during World War II. Nicky was looking at Joe in the picture, his hand on his shoulder, while Joe looked stoically at the camera. A few other soldiers surrounded them on the beach.

“What is wrong with your hair?” Nicky asked, exacerbated.

Joe just stared at him a moment, a bubble of laughter rising unbidden. He had expected Nicky to ask a lot of things, but that wasn’t one of them. He looked at the picture under Nicky’s finger, and it was true his hair was cropped much too short and looked frizzy. The humidity of the Marshall Islands combined with 1940s hair products was not kind to him.

“That was your fault,” Joe said after a moment, a small smile on his lips.

Nicky looked appropriately scandalized. “Why would that be _my_ fault?”

“You cut my hair.”

Nicky’s eyebrows went up, looking at the picture, then back at Joe’s hair. “You’re lying, I don’t know how to cut hair.”

“I’m not lying,” Joe laughed, “but you definitely don’t know how to cut hair.”

“Why would you let me do that?” Nicky lamented, looking back at the picture. “It looks _awful_.”

“Well, we can’t all be good at everything,” he mused. “It looked worse when it was longer, and the military was going to make me cut it either way. I wanted you to do it.”

“This is why there are barbers,” Nicky said with a huff, and it felt like the same argument they’d had eighty years ago.

Joe couldn’t stop himself from smiling, just from the familiarity of it. “There weren’t any barbers on the Marshall Islands, _amore mio_ ,” he said, without thinking.

Nicky’s breath caught, just the faintest of sounds, and Joe immediately realized his mistake. He stilled, waiting for Nicky to say something, but he didn’t, just looking back at the picture. He lightly traced over Joe’s hair in the picture, like he could feel that past version of Joe through the print. His lips turned down. “I wish I could remember it,” he said softly.

Joe swallowed around the lump rising in his throat. “Me too,” he whispered.

It was silent between them for a moment, until Nile spoke in a gentle tone, “No luck, huh?”

Nicky smiled at her, although it was forced. “No. The history itself I recognize, but none of it is personally familiar.”

Joe looked down at his shoes, his heart sinking.

“We may have an alternative theory related to Nicky’s memory loss,” Copley said as he and Andy approached from across the room, a manila folder in one hand.

“Copley pulled all the information on us from Merrick’s database and scrubbed their system,” Andy added. “Anyone who goes looking won’t find any record of us.”

“Among the files was the medical research Dr. Kozak conducted on you both.”

Joe immediately bristled. “Medical research, is that what it’s called? Is torture too much of a mouthful for you?”

Copley looked properly chastised, looking down at the folder.

“Wait, what happened?” Nicky asked, alarmed now.

Joe tried to reign in the surge of anger and protectiveness that filled him. He needed to stay under control. For Nicky. “We were captured and held in Merrick’s lab. He ran this—” Joe made a vague gesture “—pharmaceutical empire. He wanted to end all human disease and make bank doing it. He planned to torture us indefinitely to figure out how our immortality works.”

Nicky’s gaze darkened. “He hurt you?”

Joe felt a flutter in his chest at that, something small but hopeful. “He hurt all of us,” Joe said, softer. “That’s why we had to kill him.”

Nicky nodded slightly in understanding.

“I reviewed Dr. Kozak’s notes,” Copley continued after a beat. “She anticipated studying you for a long period of time. There was a lot of hypothesizing about how to make you more docile and cooperative.”

Joe bristled again. “So inconvenient that the mice bite you when you prick and prod them,” he muttered darkly.

“Well, she was testing different theories on both of you. It seems,” Copley looked uncomfortable, looking down at the folder again. “Well, if one didn’t work, she would have had the other subject to continue work on.”

“Wait, she expected this to kill us?” Joe demanded.

“Joe, they only used sedatives on you. They used something experimental on Nicky.”

The alarm bells in Joe’s head were blaring, and suddenly his hands were gripping the front of Copley’s shirt. He didn’t recall closing the space between them. “What did she do to him?” he shouted.

“Joe,” Andy said, a note of warning in her tone.

Joe released Copley and took a step back, breathing unevenly. He startled when a hand touched his arm, but he immediately recognized it as Nicky’s. Nicky had a troubled, distant look on his face that did nothing to soothe the spike of fury and fear Joe felt.

“Mr. Copley, please tell us,” Nicky said quietly.

“The drug is called Mendanum. It was originally created as a treatment of Alzheimer’s, but the trials did not go well. It was never approved for human trials. The animal subjects suffered severe brain damage.”

“She wanted to fucking lobotomize him?” Joe shouted, and the only thing that held him back was Nicky’s hand on his arm. Joe thought he would vibrate out of his skin. “Oh, I knew we should have killed her. I knew it.”

“She documented the drug as having no effect on Nicky,” Copley said, as evenly as he could. “In her notes, she theorized if there was any brain damage, it was just healing and repairing before she could document any cognitive changes. All I’m saying is it’s possible the drug has something to do with his amnesia. But it could very well be unrelated.”

Nicky drew in a slow breath, and he held out his hand. “May I have the file, Mr. Copley?”

Copley handed it over, looking away. He hesitated before he said, “I just wanted to apologize for everything you’re going through, and my part in it.”

Nicky didn’t say anything, and just looked at Joe. “I’d like to go home now.”

Joe narrowed his focus to Nicky, because if he didn’t he knew he would lose it. He nodded, his jaw tight, and placed a hand on Nicky’s back. Copley wisely stepped aside to give them a clear path out as Joe guided him out. Nile and Andy followed them silently.

Andy drove them back to the safehouse, Nile in the front seat and Nicky and Joe in the back. Joe hadn’t touched Nicky since they got in the car, and he felt the absence acutely. Joe curled his fingers against his jeans, his nails pressing against his palms. The pinprick of discomfort was grounding but not satisfying. Nicky had his hands clenched on the file, the corners starting to bend. He didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t think I can make mansaf tonight,” Nicky broke the silence, his voice quiet.

Joe startled at the thought—he’d never expected Nicky to cook that night, but that was a stupid assumption. He could see it clearly now in his mind; the plan Nicky had made to feed them all. “We can make it together tomorrow,” Joe suggested, his voice sounding much calmer than he felt. He leaned forward in his seat to point over Andy’s shoulder at the restaurant coming up on their right. “Let’s grab take away here,” he said. Andy found them a parking spot against the curb.

Andy tilted her head to Nile that they should get out. “We’ll get dinner. Be back in a few,” Andy said.

The women left them in the car, and Joe and Nicky sat in silence for a moment. Joe was looking at Nicky, and Nicky was looking down at the closed file.

Joe realized he had no idea what to say. So he did what he always did when he was unsure—what he thought Nicky would do if he was in Joe’s position. “Do you want to talk about it?” Joe asked quietly.

Nicky shook his head slowly, no. “Not right now. I just need some time to…to process, I think.”

Joe’s lips turned down. “Take as much time as you need. But I’m here.”

Nicky gave him a tight smile. “I know. Thank you. I knew…obviously something terrible happened, I knew I was shot. But I didn’t know about everything before that. The things involving you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, I’ve healed,” Joe said, hoping to reassure him.

“I don’t think our souls and our minds heal like our skin does, Joe,” Nicky whispered, finally looking at him then, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

Joe was stunned into silence for a moment, not knowing what to say to that. “No,” he said eventually. “I guess they don’t.”

“I’m sorry they hurt you,” Nicky said quietly, looking back down at the folder. “Hurt both of us.”

“Me too,” Joe whispered.

Silence fell over them then, thick with all that was unspoken. Nicky looked out the window; at first glance, it might look like he was watching the people walking on the sidewalk, but Joe could see his gaze was lost in the middle distance. Joe itched to reach out and touch him, reassure him in some way, but Nicky looked closed off. Joe didn’t want to be one more unwelcome touch; he didn’t think he could take it if Nicky shied away.

A few moments later, Andy and Nile rejoined them in the car. The bags they carried wafted the smell of freshly cooked chicken through the vehicle, and Andy drove them back home in silence.

At the safehouse, Booker could see from their demeanor that things had not gone well with Copley. He gave Joe a wide berth. The team sat down at the table to eat before the food got cold, using the take away containers as plates as they divided up the food.

Valiantly, Nile tried to fill the silence with a story about the munitions expert who trained her in the Marines. The story must have served its purpose because Nicky listened, asking questions here and there. But Joe could see that behind his eyes he was distant and distracted.

After dinner, Joe gathered up all the food containers to take them to the trash.

“I’m going to go read this,” Nicky told the room at large, picking up the file. It had never been far from his reach.

Joe’s heart skipped a beat. “Do you want me to read it with you?”

Nicky hesitated, then shook his head. “No, I think I need to read it by myself.”

He went into the bedroom, but he didn’t close the door. Joe felt a little lost watching him go, not knowing what to do with himself. The anxious energy inside him that calmed when Nicky was close came back in full force, perhaps worse now that he could see how distressed Nicky was. He didn’t know what Nicky would find in the records, but if it recounted even part of what they’d endured at Merrick's lab, it would not be pleasant to read. Joe couldn’t begin to imagine what it would feel like to read a detached account of what was done to him if he didn’t remember it himself. The lack of agency alone was disturbing. He ached to go to Nicky, but he wanted to be respectful of his boundaries. Still, it hurt to be so powerless.

The rest of the evening moved at a glacial pace. Nicky did not rejoin them in the living room, and when Joe chanced a glance into he bedroom he could see Nicky lying on their bed—his bed now—with his back to the door. He didn’t move, but he wasn’t sleeping either. About a hundred times, Joe thought he should go in and just check on him, but it was Andy who saw his expression and gave a slight shake of her head. “He knows we’re out here if he needs us,” she said.

Joe had expected to have to fight Nicky that night about who would take the bed, but that never came. Nicky still hadn’t left the bedroom when it was getting late. Booker, Andy, and Nile did their evening ablutions and went to the bedroom.

Joe heard Nile ask, “Can I turn out the light?”

And Nicky replied, “Yes,” his voice barely audible. The room plunged into the darkness, and Joe was once again left on his back on the couch. If possible, he felt worse that night than he did the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me waxing poetic about these immortal gays on [tumblr](https://almostcanon.tumblr.com/). My beta said this chapter felt like she was being punched seventy times in the chest, so...you're welcome? I hope I'm delivering on that sweet angst this fandom needs. Your comments make my entire day!


	5. Chapter 5

_The sheet of paper flipped over, louder than it should have been._

_Words jumped off the page. Biopsy. Tissue sample. Spinal tap. Bone marrow. DNA. Genetic sequencing._

_Flip._

_Patient is danger level red, restrain with minimum eight points of contact at all times._

_Flip._

_Test inconclusive. Repeat. Inconclusive. Repeat._

_Flip._

_His heart raced, a roaring sound in his ears._

_Flip._

_His hands gripped his hair. The words didn’t make any sense._

_Flip._

_It felt like dying, it felt like wanting to die._

Joe sat up with a start, the front of his t-shirt soaked through with sweat. His hands were shaking, and he pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes for a long moment. He inhaled. Exhaled. Repeated. The image of Nicky was seared into his mind, the anxiety and confusion Nicky felt in that moment a tangible thing taking root in the center of Joe’s chest.

Joe was still for a long moment, focusing on where his body was and what he was feeling in real time. The roughness of the couch cushion against the side of his bare foot. The whisper of the air moving from the fan circling above. The small sliver of the moon outside, barely penetrating the darkness enveloping the house. The sounds of Nile and Booker sleeping in the next room. The absence of Andy in the house, as she often couldn’t sleep and went who knows where. And finally, Nicky’s breathing—faint, too measured to be asleep. Joe focused on it, straining to hear it.

He forced himself up, knowing he needed to move for a moment to unwind some of the tension from his muscles. He stripped off his sweaty shirt, throwing it onto the pile of books on the floor by the couch. Although he wanted to go into the bathroom, it was right beside the bedroom and he didn’t want to disturb the others. So he went into the kitchen instead, using the kitchen sink to wash his face and his hands. After two fingers of whiskey, he was ready to lie down again.

Maybe it wasn’t a surprise Joe had fallen asleep; he was just so exhausted. He closed his eyes for a moment to recall the last time he slept soundly. It was when he and Nicky were last in bed, pressed closed, their bodies slotted together like puzzle pieces. Back then, there was no stress outside the daily minutia. How lucky they’d been. That night felt like a lifetime ago, even though he knew it had only been a few days. Joe idly rubbed the center of his chest as he laid there, focusing on the memory. It occurred to him that these emotions clawing at him weren’t entirely his own; they were Nicky’s. And Nicky was alone, without the soothing memories of their love to calm him. The helplessness seized Joe again, tendrils of doubt and inadequacy sinking into his aching heart. Was he a horrible partner, letting Nicky experience this pain alone? Should he push more?

No, he reasoned. That was just selfishness talking, the part of Joe that didn’t want to be alone. The part of him that missed his connection with Nicky. Nicky didn’t want him yet, even if Joe desperately felt like Nicky _needed_ him. Joe’s love was patient, even if the rest of him wasn’t. He would wait.

Joe laid there for another while, focusing on his fingertips, his toes. His calves, his forearms. Elbows, knees. It was a grounding exercise, something to redirect his spiraling thoughts and keep him present. Nicky had taught him the technique after he took a few psychology courses in the 1990s. When Joe’s attention reached the core of his body, the knot of anxiety was a little looser, but he was no closer to sleep. He exhaled a slow breath.

He heard it immediately when Nicky got out of bed. Nicky didn’t move with the usual sleepy shuffle Joe was familiar with when Nicky had to pee in the middle of the night or went for a glass of water. He moved quietly, his footsteps barely audible but purposeful. Joe expected he hadn’t slept at all.

Joe opened his eyes just in time to see Nicky cross the living room and kneel on the floor next to the couch, close to Joe’s head. Nicky had his gun in his hand. Fleetingly, Joe wondered if Nicky planned to shoot him, but that was absurd.

Nicky saw Joe’s gaze on the weapon and shook his head. “I don’t like that you’re out here by yourself,” he said, his voice very quiet.

Joe moved onto his side, their faces close. Kneeling, Nicky was slightly above Joe. “Nothing can kill me, Nicky,” Joe reminded him softly.

Nicky made a frustrated sound. “I’m not worried about you being killed—some things are worse than dying.”

Joe frowned, thinking about the pages of the file he hadn’t seen in the dream. He didn’t know everything Nicky had experienced in that lab, but he had his own horrors etched in his memory to contend with.

Tension rolled off of Nicky, the air thick with it. Joe hesitated, and then, moving very slowly, he reached forward. Nicky grew still but did not pull back as Joe’s hand rested against his shoulder. Joe squeezed softly, then his hand moved around to the back of Nicky’s neck, squeezing tenderly there as well. “I am safe,” Joe whispered. “You are safe. No one is hurting us tonight, I promise you.”

“You speak of things you do not know,” Nicky murmured, looking away in the darkness. Although his face was too shadowed for Joe to properly read his expression, he leaned closer now that Joe’s hand was touching him.

“It’s called faith,” Joe said with a faint smile. His rubbed his thumb and pointer finger up either side of the nape of Nicky’s neck, into his hair. Some of the tension in Nicky’s body started to ease. Nicky shifted again, and the faint moonlight caught his eyes. He looked so tired. “You need to sleep, Nicolo,” Joe whispered.

“I can’t,” Nicky said, a forlorn note in his voice.

“Please try.”

“I feel,” Nicky moved his hand in front of his chest, his fingers splayed but curled, like he was gripping something unseen there, “so much inside me is missing. What if I am broken?”

Joe shifted closer to the edge of the couch, his free hand moving to cover Nicky’s. He gave him plenty of time to pull away and, when he didn’t, Joe used his hand to gently press Nicky’s hand flat against his chest. His fingers rested between the spaces of Nicky's splayed fingers to touch his chest with gentle pressure. Joe could feel Nicky’s pounding heart. Joe leaned forward, and their foreheads touched. “Then I will love the broken pieces.”

Nicky’s inhale was more like a sob, but there were no tears with it. Only defeat and exhaustion. He dropped his gun on the floor with a soft thud. His hand moved to the back of Joe’s neck in return, his grip tight in Joe’s hair. Nicky’s shoulders hunched, bringing him closer to Joe as he visibly crumpled. His shoulders shook with his next breath, his pain visible in the lines of his body. “I don’t know how, but my body knows you and my mind does not.”

“Maybe because at our core, we’re made of the same thing. And like recognizes like,” Joe whispered. His fingers rubbed gentle circles into the nape of Nicky’s neck, his other hand a steady pressure against Nicky’s chest.

Nicky’s eyes closed for a moment. The explanation felt right. Maybe the first breath they took after death was a shared one, and in that moment the universe used parts of the same whole to remake them. They were inextricably linked. It was a comfort that some part of Nicky recognized Joe, even though deep down Joe had known it was true. Every touch, every look, he’d felt it.

Finally, Nicky swallowed. “I’m still scared of all the things I don’t remember. I’m terrified.” His voice shook as he said it, and Joe felt it all the way into his core.

Joe used his hand on top of Nicky’s to guide their interlaced hands to Joe’s bare chest. He gently pressed Nicky’s palm against his sternum, purposefully drawing in a deep breath. He was relieved when Nicky mimicked him, his breathing slowing and becoming deeper. That was good. He’d missed that rhythm between them, their synchrony when they were close.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from this,” Joe said quietly, barely managing to keep the note of bitterness from his voice.

“It was me who let you down,” Nicky whispered, defeated.

Joe’s eyebrows furrowed, trying to read him in the darkness. It was easier now that their faces were so close, and Nicky wasn’t guarded in the dark. “You have to know I don’t believe that.”

“But it’s true,” Nicky averted his eyes. “I am not the man you love. I feel this need, all the way in my bones—I need to protect you, I don’t want to see you hurt. And I am hurting you. How do I protect you from me?”

Joe gripped Nicky’s hand tighter to his chest. “We protect each other. You’re not hurting me—I hurt for you, for your loss and your pain. You are the man I love, Nicolo. You have my whole heart, forever.”

“But what if I’m not that man in the pictures?” he asked, helpless.

Joe’s heart jumped at that, and surely Nicky felt it under his hand. “You’re here now, so I know are,” Joe whispered. “If you don’t trust yourself, trust me. You are the same man as the one in the pictures.”

“But you miss him,” Nicky whispered.

Joe gently carded his fingers through Nicky’s hair. “No. I still have him, in my heart and in my memories. It’s you who lost him, not me.”

“I want him back,” Nicky said, his voice a fierce whisper. “I want what we had back.”

“Listen to me,” Joe whispered. “I will do anything—anything in the world—to help you remember. But I’m still here. You still have me, and we can be whatever you want.”

Nicky studied him for a moment in the dark, then nodded minutely, his forehead moving against Joe’s. He exhaled, and Joe felt it against his lips. It was so familiar, but also so new and fragile. He was acutely aware of Nicky’s fingers against his chest, skin on skin, like he’d felt no less than a million times. But it still felt like the first time. Maybe because, in some ways, this was the first time all over again.

Joe had always known when Nicky wanted to kiss him. Even a millennia ago, before they had ever kissed, Joe immediately knew when Nicky looked at him and _wanted_. And Joe felt it in that moment, the pull like a magnet drawing him to Nicky. He swayed in, but then swayed back again, his breath hitching. He was very aware of the dichotomy in Nicky, the war he was waging inside. What if Nicky's body and mind were of different wants? What if he didn’t know what he was telling Joe?

Nicky made the decision for him. He shifted his hand, his thumb in front of Joe’s ear and his fingers sinking into his curls. He exhaled. Then he pressed their lips together. Joe’s heart hammered against his ribcage, kept safe under Nicky's hand. There was a moment when everything was heightened, his breath held—then Joe sunk into the kiss properly, his head tilting to the side as he slotted their lips together in the most familiar way.

It didn’t last long, but it felt like a drink of water after dying of thirst for a thousand days in the desert. It felt like a promise. All the tension drained out of Joe, leaving him bone-tired but content. Nicky broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Joe's again.

“You’re tired,” Nicky murmured, but the tension in his shoulders had lessened too. Joe could see his beautiful eyes in the dark.

“So are you,” he whispered.

Nicky’s lips twitched up in a ghost of a smile, and he nodded. “Scoot back.”

Joe’s eyebrows went up, and he opened his mouth to protest but then smartly closed it again. Just because this couch was barely comfortable with one full grown man on it did not mean he would jeopardize any chance he had to touch Nicky again. He moved back from the edge of the couch, pressing his back as firmly as he could into the back cushion to make room in front of him.

Nicky slid his gun just under the front of the couch so he would have easy access to it. He turned, laying down on the couch. There was no room for him to do anything but press his body completely back against Joe, back to chest.

Joe didn’t breathe for a moment, wondering if he was dreaming. His hand hovered awkwardly for a moment, not knowing what was allowed.

Nicky seemed to sense his turmoil because he said, “Do what you usually do. Maybe it will help me remember.”

That was all the permission Joe needed. His arm wrapped around Nicky’s shoulders, resting his hand against Nicky’s forearm. He shifted his bent knees, so they fit perfectly into the crook of Nicky’s. If he gripped Nicky a little tighter, Joe rationalized it was because he didn't want Nicky to feel like he might fall off the edge. His nose brushed against the nape of Nicky’s neck, the smell of him so familiar and deeply comforting. Joe further relaxed, the animal part of his brain telling him they were finally, finally safe.

“Is this okay?” he whispered against Nicky’s skin.

Nicky exhaled a deep breath, and Joe felt how it moved Nicky’s whole body. “It’s good,” he murmured.

Joe breathed in relief, his thumb gently stroking a soothing pattern on Nicky’s forearm. Nicky wasn’t as tense as Joe expected, and maybe there was something to what he said about his body remembering.

Despite exhaustion threatening to drag him down, Joe would not sleep until Nicky did. He kept his breathing slow and even, pleased when Nicky synced with him and their bodies rose and fell with breath together. Joe nosed Nicky’s hair and pressed a soft kiss against the nape of his neck. Nicky released a shuddering sigh, and that was when he fell asleep in Joe’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking about this chapter since the _beginning_. I appreciate all your wonderful comments. Say hello on [tumblr](https://almostcanon.tumblr.com/).


	6. Chapter 6

Joe felt the moment Nicky started to pull away from him, and his body woke up too fast. His heart rate spiked and he inhaled sharply through his nose, fight or flight taking root. The first coherent thought through Joe’s mind was _oh please don’t take him again_.

Nicky immediately stilled, and the beat of silence gave Joe’s mind time to catch up with reality. The living room, cast in soft early morning light, came into focus. It wasn’t sterile and cold like Merrick’s lab, but well lived in. Nothing here would hurt them. Nicky wasn’t pulling away because there was danger. They were alone.

Joe realized he had grabbed Nicky with a hand on his chest when he started to get up. Quickly, Joe released him. He rubbed the heel of his hand into his eyes, the adrenaline let down intense. “Sorry,” he muttered, trying and failing not to be embarrassed. It might take him a little time to get back to a default setting of _safe_ and _normal_. If there was such a thing when Nicky didn’t have his memories.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Nicky said, his back still to Joe’s front. He relaxed back down, loosely crossing his arms in front of himself. “I’ll stay for another few minutes.”

“You don’t have to,” Joe said, in an attempt not to sound clingy. But he had already readjusted his arm around Nicky to find his hand, loosely intertwining their fingers. He breathed deeply at the nape of Nicky’s neck. The scent of Nicky and the warm solidness of his body grounded Joe in the present.

“I’d like to stay,” Nicky said, in a tone Joe couldn’t immediately place. Then he realized it was shyness.

That stunned him for a moment. Shy and uncertain were not emotions Joe had seen in Nicky in hundreds of years, not where the two of them were concerned. Their bodies were familiar, and Joe was certain there was no part of Nicky he hadn’t touched, no sound he hadn’t heard him make, no unsexy bodily function he hadn’t witnessed. But Nicky didn’t have those centuries of familiarity to get comfortable. Now, without darkness to obscure them, everything was laid bare. To Nicky’s mind, if not to his body, this was the first time they slept like this. And wasn’t that just a mindfuck.

“How did you sleep?” Joe asked after a moment.

“Better,” Nicky replied quietly. “How did you sleep?”

Joe had been out like a light as soon as Nicky fell asleep. “Really well.” Joe stretched out his legs, as far as he could manage with the other arm of the sofa boxing them in.

“I wanted to make you breakfast,” Nicky admitted. “Everyone breakfast,” he amended.

Joe’s heart swelled, and he bit his lip to prevent himself from kissing Nicky’s neck. He’d done it last night, but he still wasn’t sure where they stood on everything; what was whispered in the dark couldn’t always be repeated in the light of day. “I can help you.”

“No, you should go shower before everyone gets up and all the hot water is gone.”

Joe hummed. A hot shower did sound nice. A hot shower with Nicky sounded nicer, but he wouldn’t allow his mind to go too far down that road. “Okay.”

Joe gave Nicky’s hand one more squeeze before letting him get up first. Nicky stretched, his back popping. Joe admired the little sliver of stomach visible at the hem of his shirt when Nicky lifted his arms up like that. Not wanting to make Nicky uncomfortable, Joe leaned over to grab his shirt off the pile of books where he’d thrown it last night, pulling it back on as he sat up. “You’re sure you don’t need help with breakfast?”

Nicky smiled slightly. “Cooking and fighting are the two things I know I’m actually good at.”

“Trust me, you’re good at a lot more than that,” Joe said with a warm smile.

Although Joe had meant the statement broadly, Nicky’s mind must have gone somewhere sexual, because his cheeks tinged with color. How long had it been since Joe made Nicky blush? It was a beautiful sight; he’d almost forgotten it.

“I guess we’ll find out eventually,” Nicky said, and promptly turned and left for the kitchen.

Joe found himself grinning, doing as Nicky had suggested and going to use the bathroom. He showered, feeling more energized after a night of good sleep. Joe could sleep anywhere so the uncomfortableness of the couch didn’t bother him—as long as he had Nicky. He dressed in fresh clothes and trimmed his beard.

When Joe exited the bathroom, everyone was up and about. Andy had rejoined them at some point, and everyone was crowded around the kitchen table. The smell was divine, drawing Joe over. He knew the source before he laid eyes on it: a massive pile of blueberry pancakes stacked precariously on a plate in the middle of the table. A smile spread across Joe’s features. He grabbed another chair, because the table had only been set for four, and pulled it up so he was seated across the table from Nicky and next to Nile.

“Blueberry pancakes are my favorite breakfast,” Joe said, warmth growing in his chest. He started to load pancakes onto his plate.

“I know,” a small smile flickered across Nicky’s lips. “Andy told me yesterday.”

Andy shrugged, pouring more syrup onto her pile of already drenched pancakes.

Joe sent her a grateful look for the assist, then dug into his breakfast.

The conversation was light, everyone’s attention primarily on food and the quickly emptying pot of coffee.

It was during a lull while everyone was chewing that Nicky said without preamble, “I am going to see Dr. Kozak.” He took a drink of his coffee, the tension in his shoulders belying the decisiveness of his tone.

Everyone at the table paused.

It was, to Joe’s annoyance, Booker who spoke first. “I can find her for you,” he offered.

“Yes, thank you,” Nicky nodded.

Joe just stared at Nicky.

“Wait, hold on,” Nile said, her brows furrowed in a frown. “You want to go see the mad scientist who experimented on you?”

“She is the only person who has answers about the drug she used on me,” Nicky said. He wasn’t looking at Joe. “She might be able to reverse my memory loss.”

Joe still hadn’t said anything, his fork hovering midair. Of course this was the next logical step, but Joe had been so blinded by his own feelings that he didn’t even notice what Nicky was planning.

“She already knows too much about us,” Andy said, her tone measured. “She doesn’t seem like the type who would offer help willingly. It would be dangerous to see her again. Copley destroyed all the research in the lab, but she could still go to her colleagues with what she knows.”

“And sound like _une cinglée_ ,” Booker added.

"Sound like what?" Nile blinked.

"A nutjob," Booker translated. “She doesn’t have proof. She could have the answers Nicky needs.”

Joe dropped his fork against his plate with a clatter, and everyone stopped to look at him except Nicky, who was resolutely looking at the tabletop, his body very still. Joe pushed his chair back with a loud scrape and left the table without a word.

By the door, Joe pulled on his sneakers and jacket, the movements mechanical. It was Andy who joined him, already wearing her shoes. He felt a small pang in his chest that Nicky hadn’t followed, but Nicky had always been good at giving Joe space when he needed it. Even when Joe didn’t want it. Andy opened the door for Joe and gestured for him to lead the way.

Joe didn’t have a destination in mind, he just needed to walk. He couldn’t be in that house, or he might say something he’d regret. So he started walking, mindful that Andy was still healing and kept his pace slightly slower than usual. She didn’t say anything, which he was grateful for. The fresh air was calming, even if the clouds overhead threatened rain. This particular safehouse was outside the city limits, so there were no neighbors close enough to observe their comings and goings. Joe walked in the opposite direction of the city, the recent rain muddying up his shoes.

It was almost a half-hour of silence before Joe finally said, “He doesn’t trust me.”

“Why do you think that?” Andy replied without missing a beat.

Joe exhaled a slow breath. “He didn’t tell me about his plan to see Kozak.”

“Maybe he thought you would disagree,” she said tactfully.

“Of course I disagree!” he said, louder than he intended. He took a deep breath and stopped walking for a moment. “That’s not the point. Nicky and I are always on the same page.”

“You two don’t agree about everything,” Andy pointed out.

“No, but we always talk things through together. And even if we can’t reach a compromise, we’ve still…” his voice trailed off, not knowing how to put his turmoil into words. Joe had words for everything, so he felt even more helpless that they failed him now. A cornerstone of his relationship with Nicky was the mutual respect and consideration they gave to each other. They relied on each other because they wanted to, not because they had to, and that made them stronger. Smarter. More thoughtful, more compassionate. Everything they did they were better at when they did it together—fighting, problem-solving, making love. And now, Nicky didn’t confide in him like he normally would.

“You would have told him seeing Kozak is a bad idea,” Andy said quietly.

“It _is_ a bad idea. I’m the only one who actually remembers how bad it was. I saw the look in her eyes; I know she thinks of us as subhuman. She’s not a friend.”

“You could still tell him. He should know what you went through in the lab.”

Joe shook his head. “I can’t. I told him last night that I would do anything to help him remember. If he wants this,” Joe’s hand flexed, “then I’ll help him do it.” 

“I saw you two last night,” Andy said after a beat. “He obviously trusts you. And he’s seen the file, he knows what she did in that lab. Nicky is not a blind optimist, I’m sure he’s weighed the risks.”

Joe pressed his lips together, looking away as he recalled the way Nicky’s body relaxed against him while they slept. Then all the things Nicky _hadn’t_ said last night when it was just the two of them in the dark. Joe sighed. “He trusts me with his unbreakable body, but not with his mind. More than anything, that’s the part I really want.”

Andy put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “He’ll get there.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

She exhaled through her nose, a quiet huff. “Then win him back.”

Joe smiled faintly despite himself, but after a moment it faded. “It’s hard for me to not compare him now to who he was before—even though I’m trying so hard not to.”

“You’ve both been through a lot the last few days. Give yourself some time.”

Joe smiled ruefully, glancing back the way they came. “Did you ever expect you’d be giving me relationship advice, boss?”

Andy shook her head slightly. “What’s even worse is that you’re considering taking it.”

He chuckled, then nodded his head that they should start heading back. He pushed his hands into his pockets. “You know, it took years for Nicky to really trust me when we first met. He’d fight alongside me, he’d share my bed, but he’d never tell me what he was thinking.”

“You don’t talk much about that time.”

“It was private between me and Nicky. It’s when we got to know each other and learn what we could have together. We had to wrestle with all we thought we knew…it was a process, and not something we could share with other people.”

“Depending on the outcome with Kozak, you might want to consider it again.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Consider what?”

“Taking a hundred years to get to know each other. Wrestle with it.”

“Boss,” he said, his frown deepening. The unspoken words hung in the air, her mortality looming.

Andy waved a dismissive hand. “Just think about it. You and I have had hundreds of years together. If this time is formative in your relationship with Nicky, you should do what you need to do to make the next millennium as good as this one has been.”

Joe considered that, looking at his shoes. “Maybe. But I don’t want to rob him of his time with you if this is all he’ll ever remember.”

Andy shrugged. “If this is the new starting point, and I’m just a blip in Nicky’s life, that’s okay with me.”

“How can you say that? We’ve known you for almost nine-hundred years.”

“Maybe my legacy isn’t to be remembered,” Andy said thoughtfully, and there was no bitterness in it. “If Copley’s research means anything, we know that our impact ripples wider than we ever could have imagined, even if people don’t know we touched their lives. I think you’re different for having known me.”

“Of course I am.”

“Then Nicky will be different for knowing this you—the one who was shaped by knowing me. In a small way, that will be my impact in your lives.”

Joe frowned, slowing his steps as they approached the house again. “Do you think he could love me now? If I’m not the same person he fell in love with in the eleventh century, then maybe I don’t get a second chance.”

A smile flickered across her lips. “You don’t believe that.”

“I don’t know what I believe,” he sighed.

Andy stopped them about twenty meters from the house so she could look at Joe. “He doesn’t need you to be his yes man. He needs a partner. Just be honest with him, and he’ll open up to you in time. Be patient, Joe.”

Joe took a breath and nodded. They walked the remaining distance to the house, and he opened the door for her. Booker was in the armchair on his laptop, Nile doing the dishes from breakfast. Nicky was pretending to read at the kitchen table, but he dropped the act when they entered and stood up.

“Thank you for breakfast, Nicky,” Andy said, before drifting away.

“There are still pancakes under the warmer,” he said to both of them, but his eyes were on Joe. Joe hadn’t finished his plate.

Joe just studied Nicky for a moment, taking in the tense way he held himself. Nicky never fidgeted, he just got very still, and he was doing it now. “Let’s go eat on the patio,” Joe suggested.

Nicky turned without another word, going to get the plate of pancakes out of the oven with a mitt, two forks in his other hand. They went outside, sitting on the two chairs looking out at the barren yard. Not far from the porch was the unkempt remains of last season’s garden, straggling weeds spilling over the planter boxes. They were rarely in one place long enough to keep a garden, but sometimes they tried anyway. The pleasantly surprised look on Nicky’s face when one plant persisted despite the neglect was worth the fruitless hours spent digging in the dirt.

Nicky set the plate on the small table between their chairs. Joe accepted a fork, using it to cut from his side of the stack of pancakes. He could sense Nicky was watching him.

“Booker found Dr. Kozak in Wales,” Nicky said, his voice low. “I’d like to travel there tomorrow. You don’t have to come, Joe.”

Joe paused. “Do you not want me to come?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from sounding confrontational. He partly succeeded.

“No, that’s not it,” Nicky said immediately. “But from what I learned about the lab, I know it was a traumatic experience for you. I don’t want to make you revisit that headspace if seeing her again is painful for you.”

“You’re not going alone,” Joe said, his anger slipping out in his tone—the idea itself was ridiculous.

“I could bring Booker and Nile. Andy if she wants to come.”

Joe bristled despite himself. This isn’t how he wanted this conversation to go. “You want to take Booker? You know he betrayed us, the only reason—” Joe swallowed past the waver in his voice “—the only reason your memory is gone is because of him, Nicky.”

“I know,” Nicky said quietly. “I’m not forgiving him for that.”

“It kind of seems like you are.” There was a bite to his words. Usually, Joe was okay being the only one who held onto his righteous anger, but this hurt. This was their whole life together, vanished. And it was like everyone could just pretend it wasn’t entirely Booker’s fault.

“I’m not forgiving him,” Nicky said, more forcefully this time. He met Joe’s gaze like it was a challenge. “But I can’t focus on that right now because I need to get better. I won’t ask you to go with me because I don’t want you hurt, but I need you to support me, Joe.”

Joe exhaled. “Of course I’m going with you,” he murmured. “And I’ll always support you.”

They sat in silence for a moment, neither of them eating.

“I’m sorry if I blindsided you,” Nicky said eventually. “I thought you knew what I was going to do.”

Joe huffed out a breath. “I can’t read your mind, Nicky.”

A faint smile flickered across Nicky’s lips. “I guess sometimes I forget. It feels like you can.”

Joe smiled tentatively in return. “I used to be better at it. Before this week.”

Nicky didn’t say anything to that; he just looked pensively out at the remains of their garden. Silence settled over them for several moments. Finally, Nicky said, “The file…it was awful. And as much as I don’t want to remember it actually happening to me, I don’t want you to live with that memory alone.”

“I’m not keen on you remembering that, either,” Joe said quietly. “But you shouldn’t try to remember on my account.”

“I want to remember—everything.” Nicky glanced at him. “If there’s a chance, even a small one, then I have to try. I know there are so many good memories I’m missing out on.”

Joe tried to push down his concern about involving Kozak and nodded. He would be distrustful, and he would protect Nicky. This time they were not the prey, but the hunter. “I’m going with you to Wales,” he said decisively.

The small smile Nicky gave him didn’t alleviate any of Joe's concerns, but it did remind him of what he was fighting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your love and encouragement with this story. It's such a joy to write. I'm on [tumblr](https://almostcanon.tumblr.com/), come say hello.


	7. Chapter 7

Nile, it turned out, was no longer lactose intolerant.

“You didn’t tell me that it would taste like cheesecake,” Nile said through a mouthful of cheese, her fingers red and sticky from the raspberry compote topping the soft cow’s milk cheese.

Nicky ate a piece of cheese encrusted with herbs, letting out a hum of pleasure. It was such a comforting, familiar sound, and Joe couldn’t help but relax slightly upon hearing it. “It’s called _cheese_ cake, how did you not know?” Nicky mused. “And how would you even know what cheesecake tastes like? You were lactose intolerant.”

Nile smiled. “Some things are just worth eating.”

Joe just shook his head, unable to resist a small smile. He had his own plate of cheese, an assortment of pungent and stinky cheeses that Nile had summarily rejected from their tasting table. Joe had warned Nicky when they purchased the assortment of cheese after grocery shopping that he should keep the flavors mild and sweet, but Nicky hadn’t listened. _You don’t know the maturity of her palate, Joe._ Which of course was true, but neither did Nicky. It turned out they were both partly right. Nile made a few faces when smelling the various stinky cheeses Nicky picked out, but she also rejected some mild cheeses that Joe thought were crowd pleasers. Joe wasn’t complaining though, because now he got to reap the benefits of the rejected cheese.

Nicky opened a bottle of red wine, pouring a glass. He leaned back to hand it to Joe, who was seated at the counter not far from their cheese spread across the kitchen table. Joe took the wine gratefully, and then Nicky poured glasses for himself and Nile.

“So there is cow, sheep, and goat cheese. Some of the cheeses are a mix of different kinds of milk,” he explained, shuffling around the boards to place a new cheese in front of Nile. Overall, she seemed to prefer the dessert cheeses, but Nicky was valiantly trying to sway her over to something earthier, offering the truffle-infused cheese next.

It was such a surreal moment for Joe, listening to Nicky explain the finer points of cheesemaking to Nile while he mindlessly sketched at the counter. A hand developed on the page under Joe’s pen, long feminine fingers holding a crumbly piece of cheese. Nile’s hand. It almost tricked Joe’s brain into thinking it was a normal day—even the addition of Nile did not seem strange, as she fit so seamlessly into the family. Her likeness was a natural addition to the pages of his sketchbook.

But it was not a normal day. Despite Nicky’s attempt at an upbeat attitude, tension simmered beneath the surface of the room. Andy was in the bedroom on the phone with Copley, and for the first fifteen minutes everyone in the living room strained to hear her side of the conversation as she explained their plan to confront Kozak. When it was clear it was futile, catching only a phrase here or there, they collectively gave up. Andy had been talking to him for almost an hour.

Meanwhile, Booker was in the living room working on his laptop. Nile had also given him a plate of cheese, which was balanced on the arm of the chair beside him. Booker was tasked with filling in the details of Kozak’s movements since the massacre at the labs. They were going to a district in Cardiff called Coryton where Kozak’s aunt owned a home. They would catch a train there. Driving was not considered, probably because keeping Joe and Booker in close proximity for the duration of the trip ran too high a risk of attempted murder.

Joe’s thoughts were consumed with seeing Kozak again. He knew they could manage one untrained civilian, but he was worried about what he feared was the inevitable outcome. What if it was fruitless? The disappointment on Nicky’s face when he didn’t remember at Copley’s home was still seared into Joe’s mind. He didn’t want Nicky to feel that disappointment again, not when Joe was helpless to do anything for him.

Even worse, what if Kozak got his hopes up for nothing?

Joe realized he’d been mindlessly sketching as he lost himself in thought, and he startled when he realized what it was. More hands, feminine with short cut nails and the beginning signs of age. Fingers manipulating an unfinished instrument—a scalpel. Joe took a breath and flipped to a fresh page.

* * *

It rained the rest of the afternoon, a steady pitter patter against the roof.

Nicky cooked mansaf for dinner. Joe knew Nicky was doubting himself when he saw him trying to look up recipes online, and he offered to help. They fell into an easy rhythm, and Joe’s presence seemed to ease the tension in Nicky that might not be entirely related to cooking.

When Joe took the first bite of the meal and made a satisfied sound, Nicky’s small, relieved smile eased something tight in Joe’s chest. The taste reminded Joe of home—not one of their many safehouses, but the house he and Nicky most often lived in when the family wasn’t working. When they stayed there, it was filled with things that brought them both joy—most notably, each other. He wanted to take Nicky back there and show him the home they built together.

Nicky and Joe were cleaning the kitchen after dinner, and Joe had been debating internally for the last hour. He felt they were sufficiently alone to ask, “I wanted to check in about sleeping arrangements tonight. I didn’t want to assume anything.”

Nicky paused in drying a dish, then placed it in the cabinet. Joe recognized it not as hesitation; he was mentally taking stock. Nicky rarely spoke unless he was certain of the words he wanted to use. “I prefer having you close,” he said eventually.

It wasn’t exactly the warm invitation to bed that Joe wanted, but it was perhaps all he could hope for in the situation. He nodded. “We can share the bed if you’re comfortable.”

“Yes, that sounds good.” Nicky’s arm brushed against Joe’s, a calculated but comforting gesture.

Joe managed a small smile. He knew how hard Nicky was trying, even though the undercurrent of uncertainty ran strong. Joe returned the sentiment by moving his hand to Nicky’s upper back, brushing his fingers between his shoulder blades.

He must have taken Nicky off guard because his back arched at the touch and he exhaled a surprised breath. Nicky looked away, his cheeks pink. Joe dropped his hand, worried he had overstepped.

Nicky was silent for a moment before he said, “I’m glad you’re coming tomorrow. I feel better knowing you’ll be there.”

“I told you, I’ll help any way I can,” Joe said softly. “I’ll always be there for you, Nicky.”

“I feel like I’m asking too much of you,” he admitted.

“You aren’t,” Joe said with conviction.

“I don’t want to take advantage of your feelings,” Nicky said carefully. “I know you’re concerned about Dr. Kozak, and I don’t want to put you in a situation you wouldn’t be in otherwise.”

Joe paused, considering his next words carefully. He flipped the dishtowel over his shoulder, turning to face Nicky as he loosely crossed his arms. “I’m worried about you getting hurt.”

“Weren’t you the one who said we can’t be killed?”

“Touché,” Joe said with a small smile, but it faded. “No, I’m worried that you won’t find the answers you want and you’ll…you’ll chase this. Even at great cost.”

Nicky averted his gaze to the side, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. “Wouldn’t you?” Nicky asked.

“Wouldn’t I what?”

“If there was a man who said he had loved you for a thousand years and he knew everything about you, but you didn’t remember him. Wouldn’t you chase the chance to remember him? Even at great cost?” Nicky looked at him then, his gaze intense.

Joe swallowed. He knew the answer. His love for Nicky was deeply intertwined with his sense of self. It anchored him and gave him clarity. If he was unmoored, adrift without that foundation of their history, he might go mad. Accepting a fresh slate was not something Joe would agree to easily. He couldn’t expect Nicky to give up so soon, either.

Joe reached forward, a calculated movement this time that he made sure Nicky could see so he wouldn’t surprise him. His hand covered Nicky’s on the counter. “I can’t even imagine what this feels like for you. I’m going to help in any way I can. I just want you to be prepared if this doesn’t go the way we hope. If that happens, we’re going to be okay.”

Nicky withdrew his hand, retreating a step back. “You don’t get to decide if I’m okay,” he said, heat in his voice.

A lump rose in Joe’s throat. “Nicky, I didn’t mean it like that,” Joe whispered. “Of course, you’re right. Listen—I’m sorry. We’ll just take it as it comes, right?”

Nicky looked away. “Right.” He put away the last dish and exited the kitchen.

* * *

Joe stood in the doorway to the bedroom. That surreal feeling was back, and this time there was no denying how wrong everything felt. The room was crowded, the addition of the camping cot in the corner for Nile meaning it was almost wall to wall bedding. Joe had slept in this room with his family so many times, but now the thought of being asleep in a room with Booker made him feel physically ill. He hadn’t talked to Nicky since their conversation in the kitchen. Everything was just _wrong_.

“Joe?” It was Nile’s voice that brought him back from his spiraling thoughts, and his gaze snapped over to her.

She gave him a tentative smile. He was so used to Nicky being the most intuitive of the group—or perhaps just the most sensitive to Joe’s feelings—but Nile might give him a run for his money. Especially now.

While Nile probably meant to be discreet with the low tone of her voice, it was a small room. And now everyone was looking at Joe, as if just now seeing the tension in him. He subconsciously straightened under the scrutiny.

A beat passed before Nicky picked up the pillow on their bed and nodded toward the door. “I prefer sleeping on the couch.”

A lie, everyone knew. Wordlessly, and without a glance at Booker, Joe turned and exited the bedroom. He breathed a little easier in the living room, but his muscles were still taut, and his arms loosely crossed.

He jumped when he felt Nicky’s hand against his side, startled by the contact. Joe stilled under the touch. Nicky hesitated, then placed his other hand on Joe’s side, holding his waist, and stepped up behind him. Their bodies pressed together from chest to hip, and Nicky placed his chin on Joe’s shoulder. His nose brushed the skin behind Joe’s ear, and he exhaled a slow breath. “Do I ever do this?” he whispered.

Joe’s mouth felt dry, and every thought that plagued him suddenly evaporated. “You’re doing it right now,” he replied, his voice low.

“You know what I mean,” Nicky murmured.

Joe shifted his weight to press back against him, his arms dropping. “Sometimes. When I’m brushing my teeth, or cooking, or we’re—” his breath hitched.

“We’re what?” Nicky prompted him softly, his breath warm against Joe’s skin.

“You know,” Joe murmured. He tilted his head back, his head touching Nicky’s.

Nicky wrapped his arms properly around Joe’s waist, the touch anchoring them both. There was a beat of silence before Nicky whispered, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier.”

Joe almost laughed. Nicky hadn’t snapped—he knew what Nicky snapping looked like and that definitely wasn’t it. “You’re entitled to be angry.”

“Not at you,” Nicky whispered.

That wasn’t true, but Joe didn’t have it in him to fight Nicky about it. Fighting for Nicky’s right to be mad at him wasn’t how Joe wanted this evening to go. Joe didn’t reply, just resting his hands against Nicky’s forearms. They stood in silence for a moment.

“I’m worried, too,” Nicky said finally.

“I know.” Joe gently stroked Nicky’s forearm with his thumb.

Nicky exhaled against his skin, and they both relaxed into the embrace. Joe’s eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of having Nicky’s body, warm and solid, pressed against him.

“We should try to sleep,” Nicky said with some reluctance, the words ghosting over Joe’s skin.

Joe just hummed, willing himself to pull away, but he couldn’t initiate it. Instead, they stood there for another minute or two, their breathing syncing up as it often did when they were in proximity. Joe wondered if they were actually in sync all the time, even when they were apart. It was a comforting thought.

Nicky’s hands moved back to his sides, his nose touching the soft skin beneath Joe’s ear before he pulled back. Joe swayed slightly when they parted, feeling off balance now that he was standing on his own again. Nicky gestured that Joe should lie down. Joe did so mechanically, moving as far back on the couch as he could. Nicky removed the gun stuck in the back of his pants and stashed it under the couch, then laid with his back against Joe’s front.

Joe didn’t hesitate this time, his arm wrapping around Nicky and pulling him in closer. His nose bumped against the nape of his neck, Nicky’s hair tickling against Joe’s forehead. He was tenser than he was the night before, but Joe didn’t think it was from his touch.

Nicky rarely slept the night before missions, and this night was no different. Only this time, Joe wouldn’t sleep either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the love for this story! Your comments are such a big encouragement. I am starting a new job this week while simultaneously studying for the licensing exam for my profession, so updates might be a little slow through September. Thank you for your patience, I hope you'll come say hello on [tumblr](https://almostcanon.tumblr.com/)!


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